You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(73)

Her smile was big, honest, and without hesitation. “It is certainly the largest bathroom I’ve ever used, and I do like the white.”

The sun was warming the air up fast and was almost blinding as it reflected off the snow. He took care of his business, inspected his path back onto the highway, then climbed into the driver’s seat and grabbed his phone to check his messages. The first one was from Curtis, assuring him again that they didn’t need to talk. He frowned.

The second message was from one of the guys in charge of the project that Marc’s baby had become. The e-mail had a veneer of politeness, but the words didn’t cover up the point the man was trying to make. In sum, Leave us alone. We’re fine. You sold the project and declined further participation.

Or as Marc would put it, Fuck off.

The e-mail from Curtis hurt worse than the dismissive e-mail from a stranger, though. Terry was his, as much as it was Curtis’s, and brushing him off was a real shit thing to do.

You gave Terry up before Curtis brushed you off.

He tossed his phone into the console and twisted the key in the starter. A small, petty part of him was grateful that he hadn’t bought one of those cars with the push-button starter; it wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying. What he really needed was a motorcycle with no muffler to drown out the voice of reason.

“Something wrong?” Selina’s voice beside him was soft with concern.

“No,” he growled, then felt bad when she just blinked and said, “Okay,” in a small voice.

“Yes,” he said. The word came out in a huff, much like an upset, petulant dog’s would. He shifted in his seat so that he was talking to her face rather than the steering wheel. “I sold my app. It was my baby. Curtis and I worked on it for years. We did side programming jobs for money, but we spent all our spare time on this thing. No vacation. No sick days.”

He swiped his hand down his face, rubbing at the memories of being wrapped in a blanket, a bucket next to him on the floor, and a bottle of ginger ale on the desk next to his computer. He’d written the backbone of some beautiful code that day between bouts of being sick in the bucket.

She put her hand on his knee. Two touches, but he was too worked up to appreciate this one. “You mentioned that at the Chinese restaurant. I can’t imagine putting in that kind of work for anything. I don’t even know what coding is, really. I was really impressed. Still am.”

“But there’s more we can do,” he said, unable to keep the whine from his voice.

“A flaw?” she asked.

“Well,” he hedged, “not a flaw exactly. I mean, it’s not going to break. And it works. But it’s cumbersome. I’ve thought of a way to bypass the biggest issue standing between us and wider adoption of the product by the general public.”

And now that he’d figured it out, that fix was all he could think about.

“And you’ve told Curtis?”

He gestured to the phone. “Curtis and some other people. I haven’t told them what the fix is. I just want a meeting to talk with them about it.”

Her mouth twitched. “Do you miss working on the project?”

“Oh God, yes.” He banged the back of his head against the headrest. “Selling the project was exciting, and I learned all sorts of things about the business of computers. I thought I’d sell the program and be done with it. That having all this money and free time would be liberating.” The reality of his situation was as blinding as the sun off the snow. “But it’s not. It’s very boring.”

“Why don’t you work on something else?”

“Oh, I will.” He waved his hand. “I’ve got all sorts of ideas about things I want to do.”

He did. Or, at least, he had until he’d gotten in this stupid SUV and driven into the mountains to find himself like he was some kind of hippie rather than a nerd who used to retreat from the sun like a vampire.

“But first I’ve got to get this solution implemented. Then I can move on to something else.”

She bit her lip.

“What?” he asked. It looked like, if she wasn’t careful, she might choke on the words she was obviously holding back.

“I don’t know you very well . . .”

He raised an eyebrow. This was not the start of anything good. Like, It’s not you, it’s me, when it was really about the way you took your coffee black, or didn’t eat eggs, or didn’t like cats. “But . . . ?” he said, drawing out the word in invitation.

“Have you considered that you’re stuck on this old thing because you succeeded at it and it’s scary to start something new that might not be nearly such a success? Sophomore efforts and all that.”

Her words pushed him against the back of his seat as if she’d shot an arrow—bull’s-eye—straight through his chest, pinning him. She couldn’t be right, could she? He had all kinds of ideas about what he wanted to work on next. Lists and lists and lists of them. Plus, all those people who wouldn’t give him work or answer his calls a couple of years ago were now coming to him with job offers. If he couldn’t focus on any of the ideas on any of those lists and hadn’t e-mailed or called any of those companies back yet, it was because he wanted the time to think. Not because he was afraid.

“It’s a valid question, but that’s not what is happening in this case. After I get this fix checked out, I’ll move on to something new. I’ve got companies contacting me all the time, as well as independent guys looking to do something just as cool.”